I've been told that a catapiller wrapped snuggly in it's cacoon like the bed-time burrito of my youth feels very simular to the feeling i give when i hug. I've been told that i squeez just right, with the warmth of a summer night. I've been told I hug like a lover seeing her soldier for the first time in years. The few people i hug ask me how i hug so well.
I don't.
I hug with the pain of yesterday.
I hug with the scars on my wrists and the blood on my legs.
I hug with the overdoses, the addictions, the emptyness, the abondonment.
When i hug, i send a message.